All Hail the King (Celestra Forever After Book 6)

by Addison Moore

  Tad scoffs. “I’m a little shocked you showed your sorry face.” His chest puffs up as he postures toward Gage. “What’s the matter, buddy? You ate us out of house and home and decided to find a woman whose father has a bigger refrigerator? Carpet-lined walls ain’t good enough for you? Huh?”

  My heart soars and beats erratically at the very same time. I hadn’t expected Tad to defend me. Anyone but him.

  Tad’s feet engage in an odd little shuffle. “According to my calculations, you’ve tallied close to twenty grand living under my roof for free—eating the meals I worked hard to land on the table.”

  Gage takes in an angry lungful. “I’ll have a check to you first thing in the morning.”

  “A check?” Tad balks and I’m more than uneasy.

  My God, does he want cash? Gage can easily give it. Just reach into Daddy’s magic balls and just about any bullshit will come out, even legal tender. I give a quick glance around and spot Demetri and Dominique watching from a safe distance. Figures.

  Tad trots forward, his left foot oddly skipping ahead as if this were some terribly choreographed dance move. “You just go ahead and send it, but I’ll rip it up and send it right on back. I don’t need your money. I’m glad you’re gone, Gregory. I’m glad I don’t have to look at that disheveled hair, those baggy sweatpants, that dumb look on your face at the family table. Once you left, it’s as if the curse had lifted. You’re not looking at Tad Landon the broke joke. You’re looking at Tad Landon, Wild Fifty winner!” A slight gasp goes off in the crowd and I look to Logan for answers.

  The lottery, Skyla, Marshall answers instead, and now it’s me gasping.

  “That’s right!” Tad hoists his champagne glass to the ceiling and sloshes some of the golden liquid over Chloe’s chest, and sadly it only invokes images of Gage doing just that to her on a far more intimate level. “I, Thaddaeus Thorne Landon, am RICH! And now I can finally tell each and every one of you what I think about ya!” He shakes as he extends those last words like a gleeful threat.

  And just like that, my night gets better.

  He jabs his finger at Gage. “You are a waste of human flesh who left behind three mouths to feed, hoping that a real man will come along to clean up your mess! And you”—he snarls at Chloe—“I thought you had brains. Just remember you brought this plague upon yourself.” He jabs an accusatory finger at Emma. “You are an insolent, overbearing, pompous”—his head sways dramatically from side to side with each new barb—“arrogant snob who walks around with her nose in the air to the rest of us. Well, I’ve got news, sweetie. The only time you bring anyone an ounce of joy is the moment you step out of the room!”

  Emma gags and stutters, holding her chest as if Tad had the power to invoke a coronary incident. I say, go Tad.

  “What’s the matter, Emma?” he barks with that demented look in his eyes. Tad Landon is drunk with power, and there’s no stopping him now. God knows I wouldn’t dare do it. “I bet when you played hide-and-seek as a child, no one came looking. And you’ve spent your life taking it out on the rest of us!”

  Barron groans, “That’s quite enough.”

  “And you!” Tad doesn’t waste a second before jabbing a finger his way. “You’re a pushover if ever there was a pushover to push! You’re the pushiest pushover that the pushovers of the world have seen!”

  “TAD!” Mom riots as if she used her supernatural capabilities to turn her voice into a megaphone. “Enough with it already.”

  Demetri closes in on us with that pompous grin and, my God, if he’s not asking for it.

  “Well, look who’s here. If it isn’t good ol’ Demeet.” Tad distends his chest, his thumb hitched behind his suspender. “Well, guess what, Demetrio? I’ve got my own money now. No more kissing your tiny hiney, letting you pet my wife when you think I’m not lookin’. I’m a serious contender now.” A loud pop explodes overhead as a light bulb from a chandelier nearby goes out. Then, one by one, they blow like gunshots and the crowd screams and shrieks, while Tad ducks and jives as if his life were in peril. “They’re gunning for me, Lizbeth! They’re after my millions.”

  Emma sneers as she bats him away before he inadvertently knocks her down. “You don’t have millions, you moron. The Wild Fifty is worth fifty thousand dollars.”

  Tad straightens, and it becomes apparent to everyone he’s just now realized the error of his verbose ways, amusing as they were.

  “It’s still enough,” Tad grouses as he threads his arm through my mother’s. “Time for more bubbly, Lizbeth. And it’s high time I put these two left feet to good use. Somebody turn up the music!” he roars. “The time has come for Tad Landon to dance!”

  The music indeed increases in velocity, the lights dim, and bodies of those long deceased rise a good ten feet above the floor, garnering an extended round of oohs and ahs from the crowd.

  I glance past Demetri and spot Mia and Melissa, each holding a miniature dance partner. The boys look adorable in their matching hunter green sweaters, their miniature Levi’s. I want nothing more than to be home with them, warm in my bed with our bodies intertwined. For a moment, I envision Gage holding me tight, his—

  “Skyla”—Emma steps in far too close for comfort, blinking at me with that obnoxious look on her face—“I’m hosting Christmas dinner. Understandably, you won’t want to be there. Have the boys ready by three. I’ll have Barron pick them up.”

  “I can do it,” Logan volunteers.

  Something enlivens in me, a whole new level of rage. Gage can have his useless love back, but he can’t have my boys. I may have been generous while he was on his own, but no more.

  “Or I can bring them myself,” I say. “Will there be a seat at the table for me, Emma? Or should I bring my own folding chair and crash the party anyhow?”

  Barron pulls a scoffing Emma away. “Of course, you’re welcome, my dear. We look forward to having you. Good evening.” He nods, his salt and pepper hair shorn short, his silver-rimmed glasses catch the light. Everything about Barron reminds me of simpler times, and yet at the same time everything about Emma makes me want to drown her like a sewer rat.

  Chloe steps forward, the prickling of a demonic smile twitching on her lips. “I’ll save a seat at the table for you. You’ll sit next to me, Skyla.”

  “You’re going to die.” The words stream from me like a poem.

  A dull laugh thumps from her. “Fate seems to be on my side. I’m not exactly looking over my shoulder for the Grim Reaper.”

  “Don’t fear the reaper, Chloe. Fear me.”

  My hand flies over her face so fast and hard my palm rejoices with the sting.

  Chloe’s features harden to flint, her hand rising to that newfound pink spot on her cheek.

  “That is the last time you may hurt this body.” Her eyes widen with rage.

  “Hey”—Laken speeds over and offers me a hard embrace—“Merry Christmas, Skyla. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you sooner.”

  She pulls back and I spot Gage in duplicate, Wes holding a beautiful blonde Charlie while Tobie runs away from him. Tobie has it right. Everyone should run the hell away from Wesley Edinger.

  “Skyla”—Logan reels me in—“let me take you home.” His eyes flit to each of mine, begging me on a cellular level to listen.

  “Not yet.” Chloe reaches into her purse. “Not until I give you your gift.”

  She lands a svelte white stick in my palm and it takes a moment for it register.

  “A pregnancy test.” It comes out like a fact. Each word stings like a slap. Unfathomable.

  “Turn it over, Skyla. I want Gage to see it for himself.”

  With the flick of my palm, the stick flips almost voluntarily, staring back at us with a bright pink plus sign.

  Someone knocks the stick from my hand. The room closes in on itself. My feet carry me to Gage. My Gage. The man I was so willing to sell my people for.

  I look into those beautiful cobalt eyes, that dark hair my fingers twitch to to
uch, that dark scruff a contrast to his skin, so very pale, white with shock.

  With all I’ve got, I summon every last bit of saliva—I’d extract every bodily fluid right from the pit of my bowels if I could—and I hock it right in his face. A spray of the ages, baptizing him with my bastardized blessing.

  “Congratulations, Gage. The two of you deserve one another.”

  Logan hustles me to the door and shouts for Mia to bring the kids.

  Ellis and Laken appear by my side, an odd combination but so very comforting in this moment where the walls of my world are set ablaze once again.

  Ellis leans in. “Say the word and I’ll smother them both in their sleep.”

  “I love you.”

  Laken pulls me in, nose to nose. “I heard what she said about dinner. If you’re still going, I’ll be there.”

  I offer a meager nod before extricating myself from her embrace and looking to the sky. As if on cue, Holden and his pale bride circle above me and I point hard to Marshall’s haunted manor. My Christmas gift to Chloe.

  Logan shuttles me to his truck and straps the boys into their car seats before hopping in.

  The fog wraps itself around Marshall’s estate like a blindfold, erasing all of its features, evaporating its inhabitants, leaving nothing but a peachy glow emanating as a reminder.

  Bone-deep grief. Soul-soaked anger. The fork in the emotional road.

  I need to choose, and I choose anger.

  It segues perfectly into the road that I must travel.

  Revenge.

  6

  Gage

  Nightmare.

  The room fades in and out once Skyla is hustled to the door. Chloe steps into my line of vision. That dark smile curving on her lips.

  “Congratulations”—her fingers curl under my chin—“you’re going to be a father again.”

  Shit. Say something. Anything.

  “Yes.” I nod, dazed by the news. Emily and Nat stride by and I carefully herd them over. Emily with her painfully enormous belly—my God, that’s going to be Chloe. Skyla spit in my eyes, but Chloe threw acid into her face. “Nat, please get Chloe some water for me. See that she gets off her feet.”

  The three of them head off and Chloe chortles with delight. “So it begins. That man treats me like a queen.”

  I turn to find Wes by the door and speed over as if I were about to tackle him, and how I would love to shove him through the damn wall.

  In a moment I’m on him, swinging open the front door that just saw Skyla leave, and I land us on the other side like a morbid ballet move. My fists knot up his jacket as I crash him to the side of the house again and again.

  “You little shit!” I riot in his face.

  Wes flicks my arms off in an aggressive move, the fury etched on his face matching mine.

  “Skyla knows I have the power to give life or deny it.” My chest pumps heavy and hard. There’s not enough air on the planet to satisfy me.

  His cheek flickers with the hint of a smile. “Well, brother, it looks like you chose to give it.”

  Wes and I stare one another down, look through one another as our respective shitty futures glare right back at us.

  Wes gifts me a hard shove to the chest. “If you wanted to ensure an empty womb, you should have fucked her yourself.” He takes a step toward the door. “Pull it together and get back inside. Your wife is with child.” He glares at me with a hatred I have never felt from him before. “And believe me when I say, they are both very much yours.” His lips pull back. “A baby. I guess the devil gets his cut, after all.”

  The fog does its best to cool me, but this hell burns bright in my spirit, and the chilly hand of the fog only highlights how much misery I’m dipped in.

  I head back in and spot Em, Nat, and Michelle catering to Chloe, her feet already up on an ottoman.

  Chloe is left, so I go right. It takes great effort to maneuver through the tangle of bodies, half of them disembodied. They’re not even trying to hide it. If this is some new strategy Skyla has employed, my mind can’t keep up with her. Don’t know what it means, don’t care. The universe just took another royal crap on my head, and I haven’t had a chance to wipe my eyes clean yet.

  “Gage Oliver.” A warm hand lands on my shoulder and I find a friendly face, one that looks remarkably like the face I love like a brother, Cooper Flanders. “Just the man I was hoping to see. Got a minute?” He navigates us to the patio and I’m back in the thick of the mist, my body ablaze and frozen all at the very same time. It feels surreal, but the shock of seeing Skyla hasn’t worn off yet and I’m still numb to my weary soul. She was stunning. The stars should bow to her glory. And they will one day. I’m making sure of it myself. I’ll write my apology in the stars when this charade is over. But in the meantime, this is a fight I cannot lose. At the end of the day, I am an innocent man who chose love at all costs. Some might say the cost is too high, but I disagree. Eternal separation is in the bounds. I would slaughter my mother in her sleep if I could prevent an eternity without Skyla, without my children.

  Coop winces. “Congratulations. It’s certainly been a banner year for you. New body, new wife, new life. It doesn’t get better than that.” His lips expand with a shit-eating grin.

  This isn’t Coop. Cooper Flanders is a good and decent guy. He doesn’t stick a rusted blade into someone else’s wound. But then again, he doesn’t know I’m wounded. No one does. That’s the point.

  “Thank you.” It comes out without sound, a clicking of the tongue. If anyone on the planet can relate to my abject misery, it’s this guy. Wes has shoved a shit sandwich down his throat for the last solid year. I’m sure if he knew that I repaid Wes the favor last month he’d be congratulating me on a whole new level.

  “You happy?” That glee in his eyes dissipates a notch. “Getting everything you wanted—is it what you thought it would be?”

  A crowd of women breaks into cackles down by the barn, loud, supernatural howls, and I can’t help but think they sound like witches.

  “Yes, Coop. It is every damn thing I thought it would be.” A fucking nightmare. “I’d ask how you were doing, but I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on it.”

  He rocks back on his heels, a dark chuckle in his mouth. “You’d be wrong. In fact, I’d say things are finally starting to look up for me.”

  “Really?” Of all the people who could have pulled me from my stupor, I would have placed Coop at the bottom of the list.

  Coop and I bear twin sorrows and identical goals in life—get the love of our life back where she belongs, in our own damn beds. Skyla most likely will never land in my bed again, but I’ll settle for eternity.

  He is making everything new, including my relationship with Skyla. These are the shitty terms and I accept my fate. Coop still has a damn good reason to fight. Not that he’ll win. Not with my brother. Wesley wins every dogfight he’s in. But it’s admirable to see Coop struggle to survive. Laken has her memories. Game over. But I’ll be the last to break it to him.

  “Let me guess,” I say as we step into the darkness. “You’ve got a new plan in motion on how to get Laken back?”

  “That I do, my friend.” His eyes widen a notch, his demeanor hauntingly serious, but there’s a playfulness in his tone. He’s mocking me, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why.

  Coop examines me with those look-alike Logan eyes, his penetrative gaze feels intrusive, unfriendly, and it’s sure as hell unwanted.

  “What is it, Cooper? If you’re here to make me feel like shit, about a dozen people already beat you to it. I’ve enraged Skyla. I’ve got kids that wonder why the hell I’m not in their lives anymore like I used to be, and every Faction member on the planet would like to invert my balls. So let’s have it. Belt out your verbal assault, or let’s go with the physical one. Either way, I’m okay with it.”

  A good old-fashioned fistfight is something I’ve been craving. Personally, I was expecting another one from Logan, but he’s layi
ng low, letting his anger smolder, ignoring me at every turn. The last time we truly spoke was the night I kicked Celestra to the curb. He let me come into his home. Ellis came over and we watched a movie and got stoned because we had to.

  “I know,” Cooper whispers, his eyes drifting to each of mine. There’s a palpable irritation in his voice.

  “You know what? My life hasn’t exactly been under wraps for the last few months. What do you profess to know, Coop? The fact I slaughtered your people, or the part where I married Chloe? You said it best, Coop. It has been one hell of a banner year.”

  A dull laugh thumps through him, but his expression is stone-cold.

  “I know why you’re doing it. I know the motivation behind the madness. My question to you is, who else is privy to this nuclear bit of information? Logan doesn’t know. The two of you were pretty close. Skyla for damn sure doesn’t know. Does Dudley know?” He shakes his head just enough. “Does your father? The one who raised you? I’m guessing none of the above, or at least if they do know it wasn’t by your mouth. No, this is the kind of thing you’d want to keep under wraps because it has the power to unravel the universe very, very quickly.”

  My gut seizes for a moment. “What in the hell are you babbling about?”

  “My guess is that Wes knows. Hell, he probably ran to you with the news. Demetri, well, he’s known all along for as far back as the beginning of time.” He nods to me as if affirming an unspoken truth and my blood runs cold. “I know why you slaughtered Skyla’s people—your people. I know why you flipped the table of your sanity and upended everything you once stood for. Hell is in the bounds—an eternity without the woman you love.”

  The wind howls and shakes the evergreens as a pricking of icy rain begins to bite over my skin.

  “Shit.” I don’t say another word. Don’t want to. This is the part where I fake it. Tell him he’s delusional, but that determined look on his face assures me we both know he’s not. Rage fills me just as much as grief as I toss him against the wall with a violent thrust.